My son, this should not be." "It _must_ be, father," answered the young man.

"I have looked beyond that oily surface and see naught save darker storms and fiercer tempests; those spirits need somewhat more than a mere voice.

Father, reproach me not as mistrusting the gracious heaven in whose keeping lie our earthly fates.

I know the battle is not to the strong, 'tis with the united, the faithful, and those men are neither.

My words have stirred them for the moment, as a pebble flung 'mid the troubled waters--a few brief instants and all trace is passed, we see naught but the blackened wave.